


Evil Author Day 2020 Original Work "First Pages"

by Tazzy_Ladynero



Series: Evil Author Day [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Other, Will be deleted later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tazzy_Ladynero/pseuds/Tazzy_Ladynero
Summary: These are all "First Pages" or even "First Scenes" of original work. They may be deleted later.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Series: Evil Author Day [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/407137
Collections: Minions' writings





	1. The Serpent Queen's Submissives

“Why are you calling me again, Jacob?” signed Morgan Stephanos as he moved around his small apartment, gathering up what he would need for his night out. He wasn’t sure why he had actually answered the call from his ex when he simply wanted to go out before the fireworks started. Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment.

“It’s  _ Edward! _ ” hissed the irritated voice in his ear, and Morgan couldn’t help but smirk at that tone. It was one of the main reasons why he insisted on calling the stupid werewolf by the wrong name. Petty revenge, but considering what the wolf had threatened to do to him plus this strange sort of stalking, well, Morgan was going to get his thrills where he could. The voice took on a plaintive whimper as his ex continued. “I miss you. What will it take for me to get you back?”

Shaking his head, Morgan rolled his eyes at how dense the other was being. “Didn't I promise to feed you your still beating heart if you ever darkened my doorstep again?”

“You were upset and didn’t mean it,” huffed the werewolf, reminding Morgan more of a toddler who wasn’t getting his way instead of a grown man who was nearly thirty years old. “I forgave you before you left my place.”

“You threatened to literally cut off my balls so I’d be a better bitch for you,” drawled Morgan, letting some of his own temper bleed into his voice. Apparently the idiot hadn’t listened to a thing he had said when he left, and now Morgan was stuck repeating himself. “You wanted to dictate every part of my life from who I could see to what I was allowed to eat.”

“Garlic makes me sneeze,” came the grumbled reply, and Morgan rolled his eyes again as he slid the garter and its pouch up his leg to rest under the skirt of his sequin covered dress. It was his favorite with an ombre fade from pale aqua to a deep teal, and the matching heels made his legs look fabulous.

“That’s a pitiful excuse and you know it!” snapped Morgan, coming to the end of his patience with this conversation. “You didn’t want a submissive. You wanted a living sex doll that would do everything you said. Someone you could take off the shelf and play with until you got bored and put it back until the next time you have an itch to scratch.” He growled, baring his fangs even though the idiot couldn’t see the action. “When I started talking about a possible contract between us, you started coming up with all  _ sorts _ of excuses as to why you weren’t ready for a contract. Frankly, the thought of someone like you with a submissive of any kind makes me want to call the police and have you marked as an abuser.”

“I don’t abuse anyone! I give them exactly what they want!”

“No, you offered what you thought I wanted to hear and then tried to take more than I was willing to give,” growled Morgan, stalking towards the door. “Do not call me again. I won’t make the mistake of answering your number.” He briefly toyed with the idea of warning the man that he was already filled out a restraining order against him but decided to not bother. He would find out when the police delivered it to him in the morning. Instead, Morgan simply hung up on the werewolf’s whining and fiddled with his ear phone for a few moments, blocking the number, before locking his door and heading out into the street.

The bioluminescent trees cast a soft light over the streets and the people that were out wandering, and Morgan paused for a moment to watch some fireflies twinkle in the plants that were growing out of the various buildings, giving the night an almost Underworld like appearance. Morgan paused for a few minutes and soaked up the peace and celebration that was happening around him. Many merry makers called out happy greetings as they went past while the hover cars passed by on the grassy roads that ran between the buildings.

It was the yearly celebration marking the anniversary of the Great Calamity’s Ending, similar to the ancient Fourth of July celebrations from the United States of America with picnics, parades, and fireworks after sunset while those that did not appreciate the loud displays that illuminated the night sky found refuge in various establishments that remained open later in the night than usual to take advantage of the festive atmosphere.

It was towards one of those establishments that Morgan made his way to, his dress shimmering in the lights, and he knew he was attracting the attention of many people, some letting him know with an appreciative whistle while a few made a clumsy and heavy handed pass at him which he gently turned down with a few kind words. He had to admit that he did enjoy the attention, especially when he was wearing a flashy dress and heels, because it made him feel much more appreciated and attractive. Something he could really use today as this day always reminded him of the friends he had lost over the years as well as those lost during the Great Calamity’s early years when humanity had tried to enslave the nonhumans that had appeared out of the shadows and legends to use as living weapons against the other humans.

The Golden Dream was an upscale club for the well to do and their friends in the private half of the club, and Morgan had to grin at those that were lined up waiting to get in. Many were dressed as what they thought was appropriate for a fetish club with a lot of leather, lace, chains, and more than a little skin. Those were for the Commoner side of the club as it was known among the various members. That side provided a bit of wildness for a night, but the bouncers were more strict on that side, acting more like babysitters than guards to ensure no one was severely injured or accidentally killed because some foolish young thing wanted to try something they read about in a fiction book or worse, saw in a porn cartoon where laws of physics and anatomy were completely ignored.

Ignoring the line, Morgan walked up to the front and to the door next to the one everyone was lined up to get into. He smiled at the doorman there. “Good evening, Mr. Brown. How have you been?”

“Can’t complain, sir,” rumbled the mountain of a man, grinning at Morgan and showing off his sharper than human teeth. It always amused Morgan that those waiting always gave Frankie, who was often decked in leather and chains, the wary eye when it was Mr. Brown in his neatly pressed suit who could easily rip them in two without breaking a sweat. Frankie was a large, muscular human, true, but Mr. Brown was a werebear. “Any trouble I should be aware of?”

Morgan sighed and lifted his skirt to dig out his membership card from the garter pouch. “I’ve filed a restraining order against Edward Jefferson which he’ll be receiving in the morning, but there was a rather terse phone call before I came over.”

“Very good, sir. If he arrives, I shall pass a warning onto you so you may avoid him,” Mr. Brown stated, barely glancing at the card before handing it back, and Morgan gave him a thankful smile before entering the club. He paused just past the coat check girl to return his card to the pouch before stepping past the curtain to be enveloped by the quiet conversations and clink of fine dining as various people enjoyed their company and the atmosphere as much as their submissives or dominants. The tables were well made with some bearing intricate carvings along the edges and legs while the seats were comfortably padded to encourage people to linger as long as they wished. Off to one side was a thick glass wall that muffled the pounding music that was coming from the public side of the club, allowing those that wished to watch the mass of dancers as they writhed to the beat under the flickering colors of the sun crystals.

After stopping by the bar and picking up a bottle of red wine and a glass, Morgan made his way to a booth off to one side that would allow him to watch the entire first floor of the club without being obnoxious about it. He settled sideways in the booth, stretching his long legs out on the seat, and poured himself a glass before he placed the bottle far enough away that he wouldn’t accidentally knock it over.

The next few hours provided highly interesting as various people passed by his table. It always amused him when the humans tried to figure out if he was male or female without blatantly asking. There had been some light flirtings as well as a few carefully worded offers to explore a couple of the private rooms which he turned down. He had a few flings and one night stands, but that had been a while ago, and he was rather wanting something a bit more long term and stable. Red eyes followed a male vampire leading his elf submissive through the club on a leash and collar, and Morgan’s smile turned wistful. That was what he wanted to be honest, to have a caring Dominant that understood that just because he was a vampire didn’t mean they could abuse him for their own amusement. Or worse, try to use his family connections to improve their own standing which was something he was sure his ex would have wanted to do if he had known the truth.

Shaking his head at the direction his thoughts were turning, Morgan drained the rest of his glass before pouring himself a new one. He would find someone for himself or perhaps they would find him. For now, he was satisfied with what he had while needing to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. While he was rich enough to not need a job to live, he preferred helping others when and where he could. It had been a few months since his last steady job, and now he was finding himself bored and itching to help again. Perhaps in the morning, he would search through the Help Wanted ads in the daily paper to see where he might be of some assistance.

“Good evening, pretty one,” greeted a smooth voice, and Morgan looked up to find a delightfully handsome man standing there. Piercing green eyes held mischief while dark hair was neatly styled as it brushed his shoulders, and from the tailored appearance of his suit, this was a man who enjoyed the finer things in life without seeming gaudy about it. Not like his ex who tried to be classy but only came out looking sleazy and cheap.

“Good evening,” Morgan replied with an elegant dop of his head before he decided to give into impulse. He swung his legs off the seat, tucking them under the table and leaving the spot next to him available for the man to sit down. “Care to join me?” There was something about him that made Morgan want to get to know him better.

"Far be it for one so lowly as I to refuse to be seated next to such beauty," the man said, sliding into the seat with an unconscious grace that pricked at Morgan’s curiosity. This man was obviously not a vampire as he didn’t have the usual red eyes of one, nor did he have the otherworldly beauty of an elf. It was possible he was a shifter, but all of the shifters that Morgan had met previously often had a growl to their words, as if their animal spirit was always just below the surface of their skin. Yet, the feeling Morgan was getting from the man was something other than the plain human he resembled.

Morgan laughed at the man’s words. “Perhaps I should check your teeth to see if they are being damaged by your silver tongue,” he teased, flashing his own fangs at the man more out of curiosity to see what the man would do.

"Oh, my tongue only has a little bit of silver to it," the man said with a laugh, exposing the silver tongue piercing. Well that certainly ruled out any shifter as silver was a poison to them when it got into the bloodstream, yet it made Morgan even more intrigued by this man. At a glance, the man resembled someone high in a corporation or other such businesses, yet the tongue piercing indicated that there was a more wild side to him as such decorations were still looked upon as a rebellion of some sort.

“Your lover must be a lucky person if you are as skilled with your tongue as you are your words,” laughed Morgan, opening the conversation to the possibility of further negotiations. He may have been hoping for something more long term, but he wasn’t going to refuse a chance to take a tumble with this one.

The man shrugged, tilting his head so a lock of hair slid over his shoulder. "My Mistress is amused by me as much as I am by her, thank all the gods,” he said with a smile before reaching out to twirl a lock of Morgan’s ice white hair around a finger. “But what of you, pretty one? Surely one with your grace and beauty has an owner."

Morgan sighed, shaking his head as he ran a finger around the lip of his wine glass to give himself something to fiddle with. “Alas, I have not found one,” he confessed, his voice casual but he knew he hadn’t managed to hide the faint trace of longing in his tone. "I confess to being a bit picky with any who might wish to claim me, and that chases more than a few off."

"Oh? Do tell me about this," the man said, leaning forward with interest in his eyes. “I had many stipulations for ownership myself so I understand your position."

“I am a vampire thus have certain dietary requirements,” began Morgan, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want to accidentally lie through omission as that could most definitely ruin a relationship. “However,  _ because _ I’m a vampire that does not give any potential owner the right to harm me just to explore how durable I am.” A shiver slid down his spine in remembrance of those past incidents, and he would be forever thankful that he had been able to use The Golden Dream to vette those failed owners before anything severe happened to him.

"Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser," mused the man, leaning back to stare at Morgan before his eyes flashed from green to red and back. "I do understand your issue to a certain extent."

Well,  _ that _ was certainly different! Was the man of Fae blood, thus allowing his eyes to change like that? Or was there another reason behind the brief change of color? He added it to the list of questions he wanted to ask this man before returning to their casual negotiations. "Because of my history, there are certain kinks and scenarios I am uncomfortable with. I also refuse to give up contact with any friends and family I have because some Dom wishes to have complete control of my life."

“All very reasonable,” came the response from the man along with a small smile. “Are you inclined to 24/7 ownership with occasional playtime?”

“Yes. I find I am happiest when taking care of another,” Morgan announced, hesitantly willing to hope. He had hoped to meet someone who might be his owner eventually, but to have it almost be dropped in his lap like this was a bit hard to believe. Being a 24/7 submissive meant that his owner would have him around constantly, thus allowing him to take care of them in his own way.

"Interesting. My Mistress has mentioned needing a 24/7 sub as most of us are in and out at various times due to other things going on in our lives. I can take you to meet her if you'd like. If one or the other of you aren't interested, she may at least be able to direct you to someone who would suit your needs." The man looked at Morgan with a searching gaze as if expecting the vampire to back out now that the offer had been extended or to bring out some sort of excuse as to why this meeting wouldn’t happen tonight.

Instead, Morgan waved a hand in a grand gesture, motioning for his companion to get out of the seat so he could stand up. He was not going to let such an opportunity pass him by. "Your Mistress is most courteous and I would enjoy meeting with her to speak of such things."

Smiling, the man tucked Morgan’s hand in his arm, and Morgan shivered slightly at the heat he could feel through the layers of clothes the man wore as they heading towards the grand staircase located off to one side that led up to the private rooms that were for meetings or to allow those with the money to rent them for a private engagement. Morgan had been in them a few times, but none of those meetings had worked out to his chagrin. Hopefully this one would be different. “I believe my Mistress will enjoy meeting you a great deal. I have never met a two toned vampire before.”

Morgan softly huffed as a hand automatically went to his ice white hair and the twin black stripes at his temples. “Most believe I dye them in which I am happy to let them instead of confessing to family that far too many would want to take advantage of.”

The man hummed and looked at Morgan thoughtfully, even as the vampire managed to easily walk in his high heels, showing long practice in wearing them. Morgan decided to get a better feel for the woman he was going to meet. “How many subs does your Mistress currently have?”

"Three at the moment, including myself. I suppose I'm her longest running sub as we've been together for years at this point," the man remarked with a casual shrug as he continued staring at Morgan. “I have a question for you.”

"All right. What is it?"

"Are you jealous by nature? Because she's had several contract with her only to get jealous of me or one of the others and she's had to release them. This was after we'd all gotten attached to them and I'd really rather not put her or any of the others through that sort of thing again if I can help it."

“No, I am one of the least jealous people around, much to my own detriment at times,” Morgan explained with a laugh. He was much more willing to step aside and let others be happy together even if it meant he lost out on something he wanted. He could be jealous about some things, but he was careful to never let it poison his life if he could help it.


	2. Post-Apocalypse Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cru'ash in his workshop.

Cru’ash frowned as he examined the gun that he had found on his workbench when he had entered the Workshop this morning. It was coated in grime, dirt, and the cylinder seemed to be rusted into place. Frankly, whomever had owned this was lucky it hadn’t exploded in their hands when they pulled the trigger. He shook his head and turned his attention to cleaning up the poor beauty. While many of his clan prefered bladed weapons when going after monsters, he always felt there was something beautiful and rather elegant about a well crafted gun, but then his brothers always thought he was a strange orc.

Absently, he reached over to open the window, letting a bit of natural light in even as it allowed the fumes from the cleaning solutions to escape safely. He really didn’t want to breathe in that particular cocktail of poisons and toxins because Dr. Ketty would restrict him from the Workshop for at least a day, and he still had bullets to make to restock the Armory. The Guardian Angels were low due to a run in with a sand wyrm near Burning Phoenix, but the meat Jade had managed to get off of the monster would keep them fed for a month easy while the thick hide was being sun dried for trade with Free Love. The Mother Matron always paid well for leather of all sorts, but sand wyrm leather was a high quality.

He worked slowly and methodically through the day, barely aware of when the train started moving again as he automatically shifted his stance to compensate for the moving vehicle. His thick fingers were able to manipulate the delicate tools with surprising ease as he managed to clean the gun in between baths in the various solutions. 

After a few hours, he grunted and straightened, stretching his back which was sore from leaning over the workbench. The gun was soaking in the last ath to loosen the last of the gunk encrusted on it, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been a long time since breakfast. Wiping his hands on a dirty rag, Cru’ash walked out of the Workshop in search of a late lunch by way of the bathroom for a quick scrub down. Jade insisted that everyone at least wash their hands before sitting at his table, and no one was willing to piss the vampire off by something as simple as washing up before a meal.

“There’s a plate in the coldbox for you since you missed lunch,” announced Jade as he moved around the kitchen, preparing a large chunk of sand wyrm meat for dinner. His long auburn hair was pulled back into a tight braid to prevent it from dragging in the food, and Cru’ash grunted his acknowledgement as he went to retrieve the offered plate. Turning, he leaned against the counter and watched Jade move. There was a bit less grace to the vampire’s actions, an almost sluggishness about him that spoke of a lack of sleep and a twitchyness that undoubtedly came from nightmares. 

“Want me to send Sebastian to you?” asked Cru’ash, finishing his sandwich, and his hand lashed out to grab the kitchen knife that had just been tossed at him by the twitchy vampire. Jade’s green cat-like eyes were wide with fear, but Cru’ash just stood there, patiently waiting as he put the knife on the counter. Apparently Jade had forgotten that he was in the kitchen which spoke more of the vampire’s mindset than anything else as he was usually hyper aware of the people in his space. 

“I.. I’ll go find him after I have dinner started, sir,” whispered Jade, his fingers curling into his sleeves in a defensive way, and Cru’ash nodded, silently promising to check in with their Spirit Seeker to ensure that Jade actually did go to him. He wouldn’t put it past Jade to talk himself out of going to seek Sebastian’s help. Especially with as bad as the nightmares must have spooked him.

“Thank you again for lunch, and I’m sure dinner will be delicious,’ Cru’ash remarked, slowly walking to the door and keeping his body language calm and nonthreatening. The last thing he wanted to do was to accidentally send the vampire into a flashback and possibly provoke him into attacking.


	3. Plan Comes Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fantasy Wild West

The town of Sanctuary was suspiciously quiet as the dozen figures rode slowly down the main street. There was no sign of anyone in the frontier town, and even the animals were silent as if somehow knowing that the new arrivals were dangerous despite their dusty clothes and mix of races. At some unseen signal, two riders peeled off of the group to head down a couple of side streets, and a few minutes later, another pair mirrored their actions. Within minutes, only an orc, a human, and two elves were left riding down the street.

As they approached the center of town, the first sign of life appeared in the form of a fox kin. The vixen’s black hair was a mess, and her dress was buttoned wrong, providing large gaps in the fabric to show off her camisole that was stretched over her three pairs of breasts. She grumbled under her breath about “too early” and “need coffee” as she half staggered out of the local house of negotiable affections and stumbled towards the tavern across the street.

“Where’re you going, sweetheart?” called the elf wearing the slightly more expensive looking clothes, a leer on his face as he leaned forward to rest his folded arms on the pommel of his saddle. The gun strapped around his waist gleamed in the hot autumn sun, looking more like a show piece than one that had seen actual use.

That caused the vixen to pause in her trek for her sacred beverage and turned to glare at the elf with the expression of one who was attempting to incinerate a target with just her eyes. “I am going for coffee,” she announced in a polite voice even as her expression didn’t change. “If you wish any more of my time, speak with them Madame.”

The riders exchanged amused glances before sliding off of their horses. The reigns were tossed to the elf that had spoken, and he lead them off to the side where they would be available but out of the way. The orc glanced around at the silent town before nodding to the human and remaining elf, and they grabbed the vixen’s arms, getting a furious shriek from her as she started struggling, her hair and dress getting more rumpled with her determination to escape.

“Listen up!” bellowed the orc, turning in a slow circle as he carefully watched the town for any other signs of life even as his voice echoed through the mix of wood and stone buildings. “I am Borug Brokentusk, leader of the Brokentusk Gang. You are currently harboring someone who took something of ours.”

There was no movement save for a couple of curtains swaying in the light breeze that danced down the street, and Borug snorted as he pulled his revolver, aiming it at the still struggling vixen. “Come out, Morfindien, and bring the money with you, or the vixen eats lead.”

“It’s never smart to threaten the life of your only hostage,” drawled a voice as the sound of bootheels on the boardwalk echoed through the streets, and Borug whirled around with his gun coming to bear on the new arrival.

  
  


Twenty Four Hours Earlier

With a grunt and a heave, Sheriff Grimnir Silvertongue manhandled Johnny Quickfingers onto the thin cot before slamming the door shut with an almost deafening clang. Absinthe grinned at the elf as she leaned against the stone wall, casually stroking the head of the black and brilliant green king cobra that was calmly curled around her arm.

“You and Kaseem almost always bring back the most cooperative bounties out of everyone,” chuckled Grimnir, moving over to his desk and digging out some papers.

She laughed as she shifted her attention from the elf to the dwarf. “It does help that we can bring them back paralyzed,” she remarked, giving the snake a fond look. “Of course, Mr. Quickfingers here couldn’t tell the difference between a stick and a snake and made the mistake of grabbing Kaseem unexpectedly.” She paused in her petting of Kaseem to shake a finger at Quickfingers. “You should have stayed back east where you wouldn’t have run into all of this wilderness.”

If Quickfingers had been able to, she was pretty sure he would have filled the air with threats and curses, but that was one of the beautiful advantages to her Naga partner’s venom. It turned the muscles to jelly, figuratively speaking, and didn’t allow the vocal chords to vibrate even if the victim could move their mouth. It wasn’t a ploy they used often because if too many realized that Kaseem was more dangerous than he appeared, then it was more than likely bullets and other dangerous things would start heading for the Naga.

Grimnir shook his head before he looked at her with a serious expression. “Normally, I wouldn’t ask,but will you take an IOU for the bounty this time?”

“What happened?” she asked, a frown crossing her elfin features as she straightened from her slouch against the wall. THe sheriff  _ never _ offered IOUs unless something serious had happened to the bank. The last time that she could remember such an offer, all the bank workers from the branch manager on down to the cleaning lady had managed to catch the crimson spots, and the bank had to close for a week while they recovered.

“The Brokentusk Gang robbed the bank,” sighed the dwarf, running a hand over his braided silver streaked black beard. “Got away with the tax money and most of the rest in the vault. Including some freshly prospected rocks that Gazmarble had just deposited the day before.”

A small growl of irritation slipped out of Absinthe before she could stop it, but the Brokentusk Gang had been an irritation in the bounty hunter circles for a while, but the last she had heard, they had been annoying people over near the White Teeth Mountains, two territories to the west. Harassing travelers with made up tolls, hitting a couple of the smaller mining towns in the mountains, and generally taking whatever was edible or valuable, depending on their mood at the time. A bank robbery was definitely something new and possibly showed that they were growing more confident in their skills or someone new had taken over. Either way, it bothered her that they had been able to get all the way to Sanctuary without anyone noticing them. 

“Thought they were two territories over,” she said, resisting the urge to start pacing. “Ataleo hasn’t mentioned them roving this far east.”

“No offense to the Count and his contacts, but if they were keeping quiet and came up the river on the south side, he probably wouldn't have known,” Grimnir pointed out before shaking his head again. “Dunno why they decided to pick on us, but there are two local boys with them now.”

This was getting better and better. Taking off her hat, Absinthe sank into the visitor’s chair in front of his desk. “These boys, are they part of the gang or hostages?”


	4. Over My Dead Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fantasy Western

Quietly, the elf slipped over the low stone wall and silently moved between the large stones that marked the final resting places of those that had died, the large, makeshift pack on his back adding a strange hump to his silhouette. He nearly laughed when he reached the center of the stones and found a large, flat rock there. It was the size of a table and perfect for his plans as he placed the pack on it. Untying the knot that held it together, he spread out the cloth with embroidered sigils glittering in the full moon light, and carefully started placing the various objects from the pack out on his makeshift altar. Soon, he would show everyone in Hasterford who the most powerful necromancer was!

He placed a brand new tome in front of him, wincing at the crackling of the spine as the pages were opened for the first time, and he cursed the upperclassman who had stolen his original. It had taken him a good five years to finally customize that book just the way he wanted it, and then it had vanished after class one day. Those upperclassmen were always suspicious of the younger students who were doing much better than they were, and he knew they were always looking for new ways to sabotage his pursuit of knowledge. Flipping to the correct chapter, he carefully read over the instructions making sure he remembered the steps correctly before nodding. Picking up the athame, he lifted it and his arms to the moon as he felt the magic rising up around him.

“By the light of the full moon and the blood willingly spilled, I call you,” he intoned, and the night around him grew even darker, making the stars seem brighter.The magic crept out from between the stones, bringing a low fog to slither around his ankles and along the ground. He grinned, fiercely powerful, as he felt the magic in his body call to what surrounded him, beating in time with his heart. All that was needed now was to speak the names of those buried here and offer some of his blood to seal the pact between himself and his new army.

“That will be enough of that nonsense, young man,” stated a firm voice as a woman emerged from the darkness. She wore a dark high necked dress that reached to her ankles and a pair of sensible boots were on her feet. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun with three streaks of white in her hair, and the disapproving frown on her face reminded him far too much of his professors back at the University of Magic. All she needed was a pair of glasses perched on her nose to make him feel as if he had been pulled before Professor Mysteria because some spell had blown up in his face again. She folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a dark gaze, making him feel even more like a schoolboy caught putting frogs in desks. “I suggest you clean up this mess and hurry home before you get into  _ real  _ trouble.”

“I am Rudhon Shadowstealer,” he declared, drawing himself upright to glare at this young human woman. How  _ dare _ she look at him as if he were an unruly child! He was a master of the necromantic arts, and no one was his equal! He had been the only one in his class to raise both a fully functioning skeleton  _ and _ a pack of ghouls at the same time. This pest wouldn’t be able to stop him from raising his army and showing those upperclassmen who was the powerful one. “And you cannot stop me now that the ritual has begun. To do so would mean your death!”

He was expecting her to cower before falling into a quivering heap as the magic and fog grew thicker, making him feel like he was breathing pure power instead of air. Instead, she simply raised a slender brow before she moved over to examine his makeshift altar. Her arms remained crossed over her chest, and he resisted the urge to start fidgeting as he suddenly felt like he had been caught unprepared with a surprise test.

“Your tome is brand new,” she stated in a firm tone as a pointed finger extended to jab down at the object in question. “It hasn’t even inflicted a  _ papercut _ let alone tasted the blood of a true sacrifice.” 

He bared his teeth at her in a growl as he drew his bravado around him like armor. He was an  _ elf necromancer _ , and he owed no  _ human woman _ any explanation as to the condition of his book. He decided right then and there, she was going to be his sacrifice to raise his army, and he moved towards her with his athame upraised, a light surrounding the blade.

Before he could strike, her hand lashed out and whipped the athame out of his hand, the light fading from it. “Your athame looks like you have never cleaned it beyond a quick wipe down, and are those  _ nicks _ in the blade?” she demanded, holding it up to the moonlight to examine it more closely. “By the Darkness, is that intestinal fluid on the handle?”

Growling, he snatched the athame back from her, and the magic seemed to swell even more with his temper. The magic grew with his temper, swirling the fog around their ankles and attempted to tangle her skirts around her legs. 

“You do not have the power to criticise me, woman,” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips. He whirled back around to the altar and brought the athame down across his hand, the blade easily slicing his skin. He laughed, wild and slightly crazed, as the magic swelled again, whirling around his hand to accept the offered blood. He could feel the bodies lying beneath the dirt as a few of them started shifting.

Motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head to watch the woman move around to the altar with a sure step until she was facing him. She looked at him once before nodding and pulling an athame from somewhere in her skirts. He winced because it gleamed so brightly in the moonlight as if it was sharp enough to cut the very air. She rolled up her sleeves to expose slender and pale arms as she took up a stance similar to his. He then watched in disbelief as she carefully sliced her forearm, the blood welling up to glitter like garnets on her skin. He wanted to laugh again. Was she seriously thinking about challenging him for the bodies here?

“By the light of the full moon, by blood willingly shed, and the Dark Lady who guides us all, I challenge ye, Rudhon Shadowstealer, for supremacy of those that lay here,” she called, her voice ringing with power and certainty, and he growled as he felt the magic waiver slightly, unsure who to obey. The ones who had started moving in their graves settled down, waiting to see who would triumph in this battle, and he glared at the woman. He couldn’t believe her impudence, challenging  _ him _ in this land that was drenched in the magic he had called up. He focused on the magic swirling around them, demanding her name from the power.

_ Elizabeth Nightshade _ , came the whisper. A cruel smirk spreading across his face as he stared at the woman. With knowledge of her name he could wrap her up in cords of power and cut her off from accessing any abilities for as long as he wished. Perhaps he would make her into a thrall, forced to help him while forever denied the very power he manipulated. “Very well, Elizabeth Nightshade, I accept your challenge!”

A strange look flashed over her face and his smirk sharpened, gaining a few teeth. Obviously she wasn’t expecting him to find out her name let alone accept her challenge. His confidence rose even more as he allowed his awareness to sink into the magic, reaching out to spin it into cords of power. He would strike fast and hard, not give her a chance to ready her defenses, and then he would raise his army. Power wrapped around him cloaking him in flames, and he laughed as he felt the magic start swaying towards him submitting to his will.

An unexpected tap on his shoulder had him turning around a frown on his face, and something exploded against his chin. Blinking in a daze, he looked up from where he was sprawled on the ground at the sight of the dried out zombie standing above him with a purple glow in his eyes. There was dirt on the zombie’s clothes, and its lips were pulled back into a snarl as the zombie glared down at Rudhon. Where had it come from? 

“What was that?” he managed to slur out, grimacing as his jaw protested such an action by sending shooting pain through his face. He carefully poked at his teeth and to his horror, two of them had definitely been loosened by whatever had happened.

“A right cross,” drawled Nightshade as she strolled back around the altar to stand over Rudhon. “And with that, I win the challenge.”

_ “What?” _ screeched Rudhon, his eyes huge as he attempted to scramble to his feet only to grunt as the zombie planted a foot in his chest and pinned him to the ground. “You did no such thing!”

She snorted, giving him only a fraction of her attention as she raised her arms again. He could feel the magic starting to settle, almost being patted back into the ground like one would soothe a grumpy child. “Mr. Varbuk was raised by me as per his contract, and thus he was my tool in defeating you in the challenge,” she pointed out, speaking in a slow and deliberate manner. Rudhon bristled as the last of the magic faded away taking the fog with it. “This is something that they teach in Necromancy 101. Did you sleep through that class? I am going to write a  _ very _ strongly worded letter to Dean Jasper Sinataff, because it appears that his professors are falling down on the job if people with  _ your _ skills are being awarded their Masteries of Necromancy.”

“You can’t judge all of the students by this one, Madame Nightblade,” drawled a different female voice as a tall figure stepped out from behind the zombie. The first thought Rudhon had was ‘whoa, pretty elf’, but that was quickly squashed by the long duster she was wearing. Sigils of Protection were embroidered around the edges of the dark leather in glittering thread, and it gaped open to expose the twin pistols carried low on her hips. She looked dangerous, and he knew he was in serious trouble now. The lady elf tipped her hat to the human. “After all, it’d be like blaming you because the Skalli twins were up to mischief again.”

“You have a point, Absinthe,” sighed the woman with a thoughtful frown, and Rudhon squirmed as he found himself being stared at by them. “I suppose I could write the University and have them come for their wayward student.”

Absinthe nodded and continued staring at Rudhon, making him feel less like a naughty student and more like a bug about to be squished should he grow too irritating. He swallowed nervously, and did his best to look harmless but from the look Absinthe gave him it didn’t work. “So what do you plan on doing with him until he’s collected?” she asked, turning her attention to Nightblade - and he could have  _ sworn _ that the magic told him her name was Nightshade. “I don’t recognize his face from any wanted poster, so he’s been keeping his nose clean until he got here.”

Nightblade smirked as she folded her arms, staring down at Rudhon with a purple light glowing deep in her eyes. “I’m going to make him write lines until his hands fall off,” she announced. “But first…”

Before Rudhon could move or think of doing anything, Nightblade knelt and swiped some blood from his still injured hand onto a finger. With a few touches, she drew something on his forehead and he yelped in surprise as his connection to the magic suddenly vanished. Then he groaned as the pain in his jaw intensified reminding him that zombies could hit a lot harder than a person might suspect. The foot was removed from his chest and he curled up in a ball, cradling his sore jaw with tiny whimpers. Never before had anyone laid a violent hand on him and he was in agony without any magic to soothe his injury.

“Thank you, Mr. Varbuk, for your service,” Nightblade stated in a formal tone as if she was thanking the zombie for coming to tea. “Please return to your rest, and I shall continue to watch over you.”

The zombie gave a jerky bow to her before turning and lumbering off into the darkness. Rudhon carefully sat up, not wanting to draw any further attention to himself and failing when he was pinned by two sets of eyes. Nightblade folded her arms across her chest and raised a brow, patiently waiting, and Rudhon slowly got to his feet. 

“Now young man, you will clean up this mess and hand Miss Absinthe everything for safe keeping,” instructed Nightblade, her voice very much that of one who was part of the teaching profession. Was there a class all teachers and professors had to take that taught them exactly how to speak to make a person feel like a troublesome ten year old again? She continued on causing Rudhon to flinch slightly. “After that, she will escort you to your accommodations for your stay until someone has come to retrieve you.”

“Just where…” Rudhon began speaking before flinching again as Nightblade’s hand lashed out and her finger pointed to the makeshift altar.

A chuckle came from Absinth. “I’d suggest you follow orders and not ask questions, boy,” she drawled, shifting her weight slightly and causing her duster to slip open a bit more. He yelped and scrambled backwards as the dark shadow that he had thought was her clothes lifted a serpentine head. The huge snake flicked its tongue out at Rudhon before hissing, and Absinthe reached up to stroke its head. “Relax Kaseem, we’re only babysitting him for Madame Nightblade.”

The snake arched backwards, a cobra’s hood flaring out from its head. Rudhon screamed in fear as he scrambled over the altar, knocking things everywhere in his panicked rush to get away from the snake. “Get it away! Get it away!”

“Coward,” huffed Absinthe as Rudhon crouched behind the stone, trying to hide. “Better head back to our room, Kaseem. He won’t get anything done with you around.” Rudhon watched with wide eyes as the snake slithered down her body, revealing itself to be a monstrous size as it continued unwinding itself from her. Rudhon moaned in pure terror and darkness reached up to drag him down.

Isabella Nightblade shook her head as she watched the elf keel over in a dead faint. “Honestly, how can one expect to be a necromancer of any level with that sort of terror of snakes?”

There were far too many high level spells that required a serpent of one flavor or another, either as a sacrifice or as a conduit for the magic. She sighed as she looked at the unconscious form at her feet before wrinkling her nose. Apparently he had lost control of his bladder when Kaseem had emerged from Absinthe’s coat.

Huffing in irritation she pointed a finger at Absinthe who was on the ground, laughing like a fool. “You get to drag him to Sheriff Silvertongue and explain why you’re waking him up in the middle of the night,” Isabella stated in an irritated tone. She could feel a few of the souls who rested here moving, indicating that the necromantic magic had bothered them and it was going to take her a couple of hours to settle everyone back down. “ _ And _ you get to tell Calanon why I had to run out on him.”

The bounty hunter held up her hands in surrender. “I’ll pass a message on to your boyfriend that you’re going to be a while.”

Before Isabella could remind Absinthe that not everyone got to travel with their lover, the elf scooped up Rudhon and tossed him over her shoulder before ambling away. Isabella turned her attention to the rudimentary altar setting, grabbing the cloth. With a few flips of her hands, she had everything bundled up again and placed off to the side where the inferior materials would not interfere with her task. She pulled out her athame once more and smeared blood from her injury on the stone, causing the runes lit up on the surface with a brilliant red light.

“By blood willingly spilled and by compassion for those who have passed from life, I ask you to return to your slumber,” she called out, her voice ringing out through the cemetery. “The danger has passed and none shall disturb you on my watch without a fight.” It was the promise she made to each of them upon their death and was inscribed upon the stone she stood before with her own blood. She had made a long term commitment to the town of Sanctuary and its dead that stretched beyond her own death. 

Many of the spirits settled down quite easily, but there were always the ones that wanted to gossip about what had happened or complain to her that they were woken up. She had to soothe the ones that were grumpy and coax them back to sleep, before she could turn her attention to the gossips. By the time the last spirit was snuggled back down into its grave, the moon was low in the sky. She felt like she had just run across the mountains pulling a fully loaded wagon. Somehow, she managed to make her way back to her rooms above the Undertaker’s shop without collapsing no matter how badly her legs were shaking from exhaustion. She had no idea how she was going to teach anyone in a few hours and just the thought of standing in front of a classroom full of students trying to get them to focus on learning nearly had her in tears of frustration.

When she opened the door to her bedroom, she could only stand there and blink stupidly at the low light that filled the room. Surely Calanon was fast asleep and merely forgot to turn the lamp off. She was still standing there in the doorway blinking as she tried to figure out what she was seeing when the door to her bathroom opened to reveal Calanon wearing nothing but his hair. He smiled as he walked over to her and gently took her hands.

“Absinthe has already posted a sign on the schoolhouse door that class is canceled for tomorrow,” he murmured, gently leading her farther into the room and she managed a couple of steps before her legs finally gave out. He caught her before she hit the ground and shifted her over to a chair. He carefully undressed her, and the cut on her arm was washed with gentle touches before being wrapped in a bandage. “The idiot is resting not so comfortably in a jail cell, and you are under orders from me to sleep yourself out. You can send a letter back to the University when you have finally woken up.”

“Too good to me,” she mumbled, falling forward to rest her head against his shoulder. “What did I do to get you in my life?” He softly laughed before transferring her to the bed where she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Three weeks later, everyone in Sanctuary stopped to stare at the shiny black coach with blood red trim that was pulled down the street by four black nightmares snorting fire. The driver was dressed in a neatly pressed uniform of a dark blue cloth trimmed with gold piping, and if it wasn’t for the unholy red light in his eyes he would have passed for simply human. A few recognized the crest for the University of Magic that was embossed on the door, and the rest realized what was happening when it pulled to a stop in front of the school house. 

Isabella emerged onto the porch just in time to watch the driver open the coach’s door, allowing a large gentleman to emerge. His white hair was neatly combed and his beard and mustache trimmed in a tidy manner while his black and purple velvet robes failed to reveal that he had been traveling for nearly a month. He glanced around curiously before he grinned and approached Isabella spreading his arms in welcome. 

“Ah, sweet Isabella. How lovely you have grown over the years,” he cried, his voice carrying a bit as he moved to give her a warm hug. 

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Dean Sinataff,” she stated, returning the hug before stepping back. “I only wish it was under more pleasant circumstances.” It had been decades since she had last seen her mentor, but the years had been quite kind to him. “You did not have to come yourself. I’m sure you have a lot of work waiting for you back at the university.”

“Nonsense,” Sinataff said, waving her words away. “Any excuse to see you is a welcome one, even if it is collecting a wayward student.” He looked at her with a small smile. “What punishment did you give him?”

She smirked as she lead him up the stairs and into the schoolhouse where students of various ages were bent over their lesson books. Standing at the blackboard at the front was Rudhon, slowly writing  _ I will not raise an army before gaining my mastery _ under the watchful gaze of Absinthe who sat in a corner. As they approached the blackboard, Rudhon finished the last line possible on the board and put his chalk down with slumped shoulders. 

“Erase them and start again,” Absinthe ordered, making a mark on a slate next to her, and Rudhon whimpered but dutifully started erasing the lines chalk dust coating him.

“He’s been writing lines,” Isabella announced and Sinataff roared with laughter. It was a fitting punishment for a misbehaving student.


	5. Lover's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirates, Pirate Hunters, and Mermen!

Nervously and rather curious, I straightened my uniform as I walked down the halls of the Admiralty, trying to figure out why I had been requested to present myself to Admiral Amelia Hightower. The  _ Sea Hawk _ had only put into port the day before, and the crew were enjoying a much needed shore leave after the last hunt. My own reports had been turned in, but had there been something that we had done which was cause for discipline from above? As a Pirate Hunter, my crew and I had more leniency in the Rules and Regulations that governed the Beliss Imperial Navy, but it was always possible that something had been broken when it shouldn't have.

The pretty secretary smiled at me when I entered before nodding to the inner office. “Go on in, Captain. She’s expecting you.”

I nodded my thanks before entering the office with what I was hoping was a calm expression. Stopping in front of a large desk, I pulled myself upright and saluted, my eyes fixed on the packed bookshelf on the far wall. “Captain James Evenson, reporting as ordered, ma’am.”

“At ease, Captain Evenson,’ ordered Admiral Hightower, and I shifted to a more relaxed stance as I found myself being examined by someone who might have been someone’s kindly grandmother if she wasn’t in a crisp uniform with enough medals on her chest to double as armor. “I thank you for joining me on your first day of shore leave, but we have a problem that requires our best Pirate Hunter.”

“I and my crew are loyal servants of the Empire,” I stated even as my thoughts whirled. What sort of situations could possibly involve Hightower naming me the best Pirate Hunter in the Navy? I was only one of a select dozen who currently held the esteemed rank of Pirate Hunter, but I did not believe I was any better than the others. The youngest perhaps, but not better.

Hightower snorted, but there was an amused smile on her face. “Wait until after you’ve heard about the assignment before you start swearing fealty to anyone,” she drawled before leaning back in her chair and lacing her fingers over her stomach. “What do you know about Captain Benjamin Bones of the  _ Maiden’s Sorrow _ ?”

I frowned as I mentally rifled through my memory. I tried to keep up to date on the various pirates that terrorized the seas as I never knew when my ship might come across one of them on a hunt. “Benjamin ‘Bloody’ Bones was the son of a butcher before he turned to piracy. It is unknown if his nickname came from his red hair or the gruesome and violent way he kills his prey,” I reported. “His ship is one of the faster ones on the sea, and that makes it very difficult to catch him. The few times he was lured into a trap, he somehow managed to escape and caused thousands of gold worth of damages to the Imperial ships trying to capture him.”

“He’s your next hunt,” Hightower announced, her sharp, brown eyes still watching me. “However, there is a complication.”

My mind was already whirling when she made that announcement, and I had to wonder just what this complication was. Bones was as dangerous as a viper and more vicious than a rabid dog. The  _ Sea Hawk  _ was fast, but I didn't know if she would be able to catch the  _ Maiden’s Sorrow. _ “What sort of complication. Ma’am?”

“You’re going to have a guest aboard your ship during this hunt in the form of the Royal Investigator from Krys’ton’a,” she stated, and I frowned in confusion. What did the mer kingdom want with Bones? They were polite enough allies, but they often kept to themselves. A few mermen had joined the Navy but none were interested in being on a Pirate Hunter’s crew, and never before had the kingdom been interested enough in a specific pirate to reach out to the Navy instead of just quietly take care of the pirate themselves. There had been many a pirate who had either vanished or had their ship disabled enough that they were often marooned on whatever island they washed up on.

“Apparently Bones pissed off the Sea Witch, and this request for help comes from her,” Hightower remarked. “Bones managed to steal something of hers, and she wants it back. The Royal Investigator is the one person she can trust to return her property to her without trying to use it to his advantage.”

“Very trusting of her,” I remarked as my eyebrows climbed towards my hairline. To have the Sea Witch Ikthya counted among one’s allies could tempt someone into holding onto her property until certain requests were fulfilled. To be thought of fondly by her, I would put up with his merman, and if he proved too troublesome, well, I did have a bring. 

Standing, Hightower picked up a folder off her desk and held it out to me. “Don’t mess this up, get Bones, and return the Sea Witch’s property,” she ordered, not releasing the folder as I grasped it in one hand. “If you can bring Bones back alive, fine, but if all you bring back is his head, the Empire will be satisfied with that as well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, tucking the folder under my arm as she released it, and a strange knot had formed in my stomach. Never before had I been sent on a hunt with such blatant permission to kill my target. It occasionally happened when an opponent preferred death to surrender, or they managed to succumb to their wounds no matter how good of treatment they received. I disliked bringing corpses back to the military ports as it felt like they forced me to be judge, jury, and executioner, and that was a responsibility I never wanted.

“The Royal Investigator is staying at The Simple Crab until you reprovision and repair your ship,” Hightower explained, sitting back down in her seat. “I know you and your crew just got back from a long hunt, but His Highness seemed anxious to get started.”

“Are we on a time limit, ma’am?” I asked, wondering what this property was now. It wouldn’t be the first time one of my hunts had a time limit, but those usually involved hostages of some sort. Was it a relative of the Sea Witch that had been taken by Bones? He normally didn’t take hostages, preferring to strip people of their valuables before leaving their corpses cooling on the ground.

“Not to my knowledge, but I don’t know the Royal Investigator’s plas aside from retrieve the Sea Witch’s property,” she pointed out with a small smirk. “Maybe you’ll have better luck at finding out, Captain. Dismissed.”

I snapped to attention, gave a crisp salute, turned on a heel, and marched out of the office. I was halfway down the hall before I stopped to lean against a wall, and closed my eyes for a few minutes. By the ocean’s blue depths. I wasn’t sure if this hunt was going to be worth the trouble I could already see. It wasn’t the first time the  _ Sea Hawk _ had played host to some political lackey, but to do so while going after one of the most ruthless pirates on the waves was just asking for problems. The chief problem was almost every single guest aboard my ship to a man barely knew which end of a sword to hold let alone how to fight, and as a Pirate Hunter, we were a target for those that made their living out of hunting  _ us _ . When one of those barracudas caught up with us, it was not a time to have someone like that aboard as they became a liability rather quickly.


	6. Cockleshells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Pretty Maids for Bluebeard...

The first indication that the ball was going to be far more interesting than past gatherings of this season was when I spotted a most unusual gentleman wandering from cluster of people to cluster, chatting here and there. He stood out for a few reasons, the first being that he as easily over six feet tall with very broad shoulders, something I figured out when he paused to speak to Lord Tobias Armington who was almost six feet himself, and Lord Tobias had to look up to meet the gentleman’s eyes. The second reason was the booming laugh that would occasionally explode from the gentleman’s mouth, drawing more than one eye his way as if he was more use to being heard over a noise greater than a mix of music and gossip at a social ball. He also had the rolling gait of one who spent a great deal of their time on a ship, something I recognized from when Father returned from his own trips abroad.

Yet, the  _ most _ striking feature of the gentleman was his hair and thick beard, both were a brilliant royal blue, and I had to wonder why anyone would dye their hair such an eye catching shade. Following that thought was one wondering just  _ how _ he managed to achieve such a shade that was normally only found in jewels and cloth.

“Is someone interested in the infamous Captain Bluebeard?” cooed an almost saccharine voice in my ear, and I turned to find Lady Evelyn standing there with a knowing smirk on her lips. Next to her was her friend and rival for Lord Tobias' affection, Lady Isabella. Evelyn was the biggest gossip I had ever known but she was a rather decent source of information if one was willing to sift through the dross for the bits of truth. Evelyn shook her fan at me as if scolding an errant child. “Careful you do not become a victim of his curse.”

“I sincerely doubt Bluebeard is the gentleman's true name,” I drawled, putting just enough scorn in my voice to ensure Evelyn would be delighted to prove me wrong by filling me in on all the scandalous gossip she had. Undoubtedly, the name had been bestowed upon him due to his azure locks, and depending on why his hair was that color, it was either a cruel taunt or a bit of fun poked at him.

Isabella huffed slightly and flicked her fan slightly, apparently trying to brush off the gossip Evelyn was going to fill me in on. “He is Lord Vincent Barbin, and the poor man has been truly unlucky in love,” she sighed, her brown eyes shining with sympathy. My curiosity must have shown on my face as she continued. “He has been widowed over a dozen times, the dear.”

“I heard he locked his wives up in his manor, isolating them while he was away on business, and that's why they either killed themselves or had to be committed,” Evelyn stated, her eyes glittering with malicious glee at being able to spread such news. She sniffed and gently fanned herself as my eyes drifted back to the gentleman in question. “Such a disgrace for one who was once part of the Royal Navy.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Evelyn,” huffed Isabella, and I caught motion out of the corner my eye that was her flicking her fan. It was a wonder she hadn't hit anyone with it yet. “Everyone  _ knows _ the poor man was cursed by some savage during his travels to be unlucky in love, and  _ that _ is why he cannot keep a wife as well as why his hair is that color.

“Poppycock!” huffed Evelyn, and I rolled my eyes at her obvious disbelief. What made Isabella's rumor any less true or even believable than Evelyn's? From the sounds of it, Lord Barbin was a serial monogamist who probably had the misfortune of choosing unsuitable wives and paid them to go away. Not everyone was suited to the life of a traveler's wife.

“What does he actually do to make his money?”

The question slipped out of me, and I glanced over to find both Evelyn and Isabella looking at me in surprise. Apparently they had forgot I was there in their little spat. I shrugged a shoulder and gestured in Lord Barbin's direction where he was chatting with a group of older gentlemen, apparently ignorant that he was the subject of our little gossip session. I might not care about the latest fashions, but even I could tell his clothes were made from expensive fabric and custom tailored just for him. “Is he a Lord of Leisure, living off an inheritance? Does he have a business, and if so, what sort is it?”

If he traveled enough to lose a dozen wives, then it was quit possible he was a shipping merchant who traveled with his ships the same as my own father did when he was feeling restless. Of course, Father also went out when he had a special shipment that none of us in the house were silly enough to ask about. At least my sister, Susan, and I weren't.

Evelyn snorted, drawing my attention as she flicked her fan shut with a twitch of her wrist and caused the dance card hanging from her wrist to flip around. “Why does it matter what his business is or how he makes his money?” she exclaimed, waving her fan again, and I watched as the small pencil attached to the card strike it with enough force to draw a line through a name. I certainly hoped she wasn't looking forward to that particular dance. “He's rich, owns a seaside manor, is ruch, has a title, and he's rich!”

“Does this mean you are looking towards becoming the next Lady Bluebeard?” asked Isabella in a sweet voice as she fluttered her lashes at Evelyn. To me, it sounded as if Evelyn was more interested in Lord Barbin's pocketbook instead of the man himself. “I will have to let Lord Tobias know and offer him a soft shoulder to cry on.”

“You stay away from  _ my _ Tobias!” snarled Evelyn, glaring at Isabella, and I rolled my eyes hard enough to see my brain as the two of them began sniping at each other like a pair of fisher wives. I knew for a fact Lord Tobias was not interested in either of them beyond using them to distract his parents from talks of marriage. I had actually been subtly nudging him towards Susan who had a great deal less drama in her, especially when compared to Evelyn and Isabella.

Shaking my head as their voices grew, I wandered over to the refreshment table for a drink and a plate of snacks. Dinner was still a few hours away, yet I was starting to grow hungry now. As I began to load up my plate with finger food, I mentally ran through the various gentlemen I knew, wondering if any might be appropriate to introduce Lord Barbin, but unfortunately, I was coming up blank. I simply did not know the gentleman well enough to know who would be best for an introduction between us.


	7. The Exodus Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are discussed. Scifi Fantasy mix with monsters.

Standing at the arched window, Vladimir Tepes Dracula, King of the vampires, watched the storm pound the brown landscape with furious bolts of lightning and drowning torrents of rain. It was as if Mother Nature was trying her best to wash the filth from the planet’s surface, and he knew she had every right to do so. He had been thinking long and hard on both his future and that of his people before finally coming to a decision. Tonight, he would be sharing those thoughts with the other leaders of the communities with the hopes that he was not the only one seeing the signs for what they were.

The door opened behind him, and he heard the soft footsteps of Circe approaching him before she spoke. “Your guests have arrived and are waiting for you, Vlad.”

He turned as smiled at his first wife, automatically offering the Grecian beauty his arm which she accepted with a small smile. Her dark curls were artfully styled with little jeweled pins scattered among them to resemble stars and her curves were wrapped in a wine dark silk, setting off her olive skin beautifully. Of course, while it may have been her beauty that attracted him at first, he soon learned that his lovely Circe had cunning and brains under her laughing olive colored eyes.

“What is the feelings of my guests?” he inquired, knowing he would have to shift various little speeches and arguments depending on the general attitude.

“There is the general feeling of curiosity and comradery, but Malcom Sawyer is already trying to figure out why you have gathered everyone for a dinner in the middle of the week instead of the usual weekends.” She wrinkled her nose as she mentioned the human. “I do not like him. He reeks of greed, dishonesty, and selfishness, and he has already tried to ‘convince’ me that I would benefit from a night in his bed.”

That got a raised brow from Vlad as he glanced at her. “Is it anything I need to be concerned about?” It wouldn’t be the first time that someone tried to coax one of his wives into their bed, and while he didn’t doubt their loyalty in the slightest, many who had tried didn’t enjoy being told ‘no’ by the three beauties. Vlad would be happy to ‘discourage’ Sawyer from pressuring any of his wives just to keep them from having to damage the man.

Circe shook her head. “Pharaoh Hatshepsut arrived just then with one of her handmaidens, and he was quickly drawn into a discussion about one of the latest bills that was introduced to the Council last week.”

“Ramses didn’t accompany the Pharaoh?” Vlad could count the number of times the vizier had not been at Hatshepsut’s side on one hand and still have plenty of fingers left over. Circe shook her head, and Vlad hummed before flicking his fingers to dismiss the topic. “I am sure the Pharaoh has her reasons for leaving him behind. If she chooses not to share them, we will not pry.”

Stopping just outside the door of the room where their guests were waiting, Circe turned to Vlad and fussed slightly with his cravat before smoothing her hands down his arms, removing any wrinkles in the sleeves. “There, perfect again, my lord.”

He smiled at her, allowing her to have her fussing. “I would be a walking disaster without you, my heart.”

She laughed as they entered the room, and Vlad beamed at the people gathered there. “Welcome, my guests! I am delighted and honored you were able to join us tonight for an important meeting,” he greeted, bowing politely before gesturing towards the dining room through an open arch. “But first, let us enjoy a wonderful meal before heavy topics are discussed.”

Hatshepsut and her handmaiden, Sitamun, moved to the dining room and gracefully took a seat next to the head of the table, the Pharoah’s linen suit not showing a crease as she sat as if ascending her throne. Malcolm Sawyer, the Chancellor of the United Earth Council, casually sat in the seat at the foot of the table where he would be directly across from Vlad, and Vlad resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the Enhanced Human’s blatant statement that he believed he was an equal to the Vampire King in his expensive Armani suit that looked like it was fresh from the closet instead of being worn all day. Adam Evenson, the Vice-Chancellor, looked a bit more rumpled but he was bright eyed with sandy brown hair partially falling into his eyes, giving him a mischievous little boy look . 

The Demon Queen Lyvintra and her mate, Kalanimar, claimed seats next to the Pharaoh as Vlad’s three wives sat across from them, and Amber Goldenstripe, the shifter’s Council representative, took up the last seat next to Adam. While Lyvintra, Hatshepsut, and Vlad all had seats on the United Earth Council, it still seemed like the table had been divided between the humans and non-humans, but Vlad knew that was just Malcolm’s little power game.

Servants brought out the food and drink, and quiet conversation dominated the table, with gossip and political discussions dominating their times. Lyvintra, Sitamun, and Circe spent most of their conversation speaking about the upcoming fashion show in Paris while Boudicca, Amber, Adam, and Malcolm discussed the next Council session and some of the issues that would be addressed at that time. There were some curious looks tossed Vlad’s direction as more than one person attempted to coax Vlad into telling them why he had invited them in the middle of the week instead of on the weekend as per his usual habits, but each time, he simply begged their indulgence to wait until everyone had finished the delightful meal his chef had put together for them.

After dinner, Vlad lead everyone into a cozy sitting room where huge windows were still displaying the furious storm outside. He gestured for them to get comfortable as he poured them each a cognac.

“Just what is this all about, Count?” inquired Malcolm as he accepted his glass. “Not that I don’t appreciate an excellent dinner with wonderful company, but your invitation mentioned needing to discuss an important matter with us.”

“I confess a great deal of curiosity myself,” remarked Lyvintra, the tiny bells chiming as she moved her head. 

Inclining his head, Vlad looked around at all of them. “The matter is simple yet rather complex and could potentially involve all of us and our people,” he explained before turning to gesture at the window and the storm raging beyond the protective glass. “The weather has grown increasingly hostile even as the atmosphere becomes more toxic for everyone. No longer can any of us wander out of our homes without our envirosuits, and what little natural beauty that remains is under biodomes and carefully controlled.”

“Get to the point,” drawled Malcolm, rolling his eyes. “You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know.”

Resisting the urge to sneer at the human, Vlad continued. “I have started making plans to take my family and leave the Earth.”


End file.
